Precious Moment

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Holding hands with Grandpa. (Photo taken a year before he died.)

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;It was snack time, yet, instead of a food or a drink, it was Grandpa’s hand that I held in my left hand. He was lying supine on his bed, and I was sitting right next to him. His eyes were closed, his grasp firm, his breathing regular yet shallow.

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I reached out to caress his gray hair with my free hand, my eyes never leaving his face. For the nth time, I was awed at how handsome he still was, despite his advanced age of 88 and his illness that had devastated his body.

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He must have felt my gaze upon him, because just then, he opened his eyes, and he looked deep into me. And for a long time, we stared at each other, neither of us willing to break the link.

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That instant, my mind was wiped out of thoughts. My fear that he would soon go left me. And I felt strength surged through me, and I wondered where that extra strength came from.

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Still, the link remained unbroken. I remember now that as I gazed into his eyes, as I struggled not to break the link, even as my eyes began to hurt and tears were threatening to break free, I was asking him questions in my mind, though I don’t think I ever knew what those questions were. And I remember too that his eyes seemed to be telling me something, but exactly what they were, I never truly understood, but I was — and still am — sure they were of love — his love for us.

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Soon my eyes hurt real bad, and the tears finally broke free. The instant he saw the tears, he closed his eyes and I felt sorry. Sorry that I failed him… that the strength he had lent me was still not enough to sustain me. And sorry that I broke the link.

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I knew then that the moment had passed.I wiped my tears not too discretely, hating myself for being weak just when Grandpa wanted me to be strong, and for failing to hold back my tears. But then I remembered that his eyes were moist, too. And instantly, my heart warmed, realizing that Grandpa never cried in sorrow; his tears were only for happy times.

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Again, I looked at Grandpa’s face, his eyes still tightly shut. I moved closer to him, smoothing his gray hair. And just then, I felt him tighten his grasp on my hand.

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And I realized, the link was never really broken.

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;Amang Roman died a week after this incident, on 31 May 2007 at 3:37am..

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I am a brainteaser seeking answers to my questions, and attempting to put together the clues of — and find meaning to — the puzzle that is my life.
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